


We will not give up on love now

by justhockey



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, First Kiss, Fix-It, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Human Castiel (Supernatural), Idiots in Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Episode: s15e18 Despair, Reunions, Temporary Character Death, The Empty (Supernatural), s15e20 doesn’t exist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:14:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27661196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justhockey/pseuds/justhockey
Summary: (It’s not home now, not anymore. It can’t be when the person that made it home is gone.)***Dean starts finding black feathers all around him and he doesn’t know where they’re coming from.Somewhere, out in the Empty, Castiel is shedding his grace, is finding his way home.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 26
Kudos: 300





	We will not give up on love now

**Author's Note:**

> Title from _Orpheus_ by Sara Bareilles.

The world is whole again, for the most part. 

Chuck is gone and Jack is now, well, he’s still _Jack_ \- just more. Everyone who was lost is back again, as if it had never even happened at all. Sam and Eileen are finally getting to have all of the things that they deserve, getting to fall in love without it feeling like a death sentence. And there’s an easy way about life at the moment, a stillness that Dean doesn’t think he’s ever got to really experience before. 

It should be bliss, but it’s not. It can’t be. Not when a part of Dean is missing, lost forever. And not when he never even - _fuck._ He never even got the chance to say something, to respond in any way. At the very least, Cas deserved that. He deserved _something_ from Dean. Instead, he just got eternal nothingness, a lifetime of Empty. 

So Dean feels like he has a lifetime of Empty stretching out in front of him as well. Because this life, he’d never expected to be able to live it, hell, he’d never even _wanted_ it. And then slowly, slowly, he thought maybe. Maybe he could want this kind of quiet life. But only because of Castiel, who made him think that he might actually deserve it, that he might really be worth it. And now, to live it without him? It feels like the worst kind of punishment. 

He thinks he remembers reading something in a book, one day. Something like _’and perhaps it is the greater grief, after all, to be left on earth when another is gone.’_

He’d always known it, had shown it in every way he’d been willing to sacrifice himself for Sammy. But it feels different now, bigger, somehow. Because Cas is gone, he died without knowing how truly important he is to them - to Dean. And he hates that, hates that Castiel might have been taken still thinking he was nothing more than a weapon to them. 

Cas had once seen through every facade Dean has ever put up, and told him _’you don’t think you deserve to be saved.’_ Now Dean worries that that’s exactly how Castiel thought too, like his life was worth less than Dean’s. It makes him sick to his stomach. 

He thinks he’d fight every monster he’s ever killed all over again, just to have Castiel back. He’d follow him to the Empty, if only he could. 

Dean just wishes that Cas could know, that he could _hear._

The first time it happens, it’s barely a week after they defeat Chuck and Jack restores balance. 

He’s just made a run to the store and is heading back inside the bunker - mundane, normal tasks feel so _big_ now, after a lifetime of restlessness - when something catches his eye. It’s sticking up in the grass just outside the door, and Dean’s breath catches in his throat when he sees it. He crouches down, reaches out a steady hand and plucks it from the undergrowth. 

It doesn’t mean anything, he’s knows that. It’s just. The feather is an inky-black colour but iridescent in the sunlight, shifting blue and green as Dean rolls the quill between his fingers. He should toss it back on the floor, leave it outside where it belongs, but he can’t. 

Dean slips it in his pocket and heads inside. He keeps the feather in an unused drawer in his dresser, and he knows why, he just can’t bring himself to actually _think_ it. It hurts too much. 

So he keeps it out of sight (but not out of mind), and pretends that things are okay. 

***

The monsters aren’t gone.

They’re as much a part of earth as humans are, and Jack taking the reigns hasn’t completely eradicated them. They’re far more infrequent, far less deadly than the brothers are used to, but they’re still around. Which means it’s still Sam and Dean’s job to get rid of them, even if they’ve taken a step back from hunting for the most part. 

It’s not too far away - Eileen won’t let them travel further than a couple states in any direction - and it’s not too complicated. Just a few wraiths teaming up against a couple hundred people in nowhere, Illinois. It’s an in and out job, really. Easy and quick enough that they’re ready to get back on the road by nightfall. 

Sam is inside a little diner grabbing some food for the journey just as it starts to rain. It’s not too heavy, just enough for Dean to switch on the windshield wipers. Except they don’t seem to want to work properly, sticking halfway and not going any further. Dean huffs in frustration. He’s tired and grubby, and with an eight hour drive ahead of them, it’s about the last thing he needs. 

He pulls his jacket around him tighter as he gets out of the car to inspect the problem. As it turns out, thought, it’s a quick fix, because Dean sees the problem almost instantly. 

His hands are still steady but his heart races as he removes the feather that was causing the wipers to stick. It’s inky-black, no hints of blue or green in the darkness, but it still makes Dean’s stomach drop. He tries to think back to the first one, if it’s rained since then, if it could possibly be from the same bird. Maybe. He doesn’t know. 

It’s soft as he lets his fingers brush over it gently, like it might disintegrate before his eyes if he’s too rough. His eyes burn and he has to take a deep breath to calm himself. 

The distant sound of a bell over a door makes him look up, and he sees Sammy walking towards him with a bag of food and two cups of coffee in his hands. Dean quickly pockets the feather, just because. Because he can’t let it go. 

“What are you doing?” Sam asks. 

Dean nods toward the car, “Wipers weren’t working.”

Sam frowns a little then, but laughs as he looks up at the sky. 

“It isn’t raining?”

Dean looks up too, confused because it _had_ been just a second ago. But Sam is right, there isn’t a hint of rain or cloud, and the night is clear save for the stars lighting up the sky. 

It feels like - like _something._ But he knows that it can’t be. Knows that he’s seeing things and reading into them because he wants to. 

He shrugs his shoulders and laughs, because what else is there to say?

“Checking just in case,” Dean says, like he doesn’t meticulously care for Baby every spare second that he gets. “Don’t wanna kill God just to get taken out by something as dumb as bad weather.”

Sam doesn’t look like he buys it, but he doesn’t question Dean. He just hands him his coffee and they climb back into the impala, ready to head back to the bunker.

(It’s not home now, not anymore. It can’t be when the person that made it home is gone.)

***

He is walking down the stairs when he sees another one, a black feather just a little bigger than the last two, perched on the end of one of the steps. Dean picks it up.

There’s one on his chair at the table, this time weathered and damaged. He keeps it anyway. 

Another in the hallway just outside his bedroom, black and blue and green. He closes the door behind him and runs his fingers over it. 

Then on the floor outside of the impala, drenched from the downpour earlier, but still precious. Still beautiful. 

He finds more and more of them, in increasingly peculiar but not entirely impossible places. And he wants, so badly, to believe that it’s really him, that it’s really Castiel. But how could it be? He’s trapped in the Empty and no one escapes from that, especially now that Chuck is no longer pulling all of the strings. 

It hurts more every single time, makes his heart squeeze painfully and his breath quicken. Because maybe it _is_ Cas, maybe he’s trying to communicate and Dean doesn’t realise. Or perhaps he’s finally going crazy, that this is the proverbial straw that breaks the camels back. 

Part of Dean wants to keep it to himself because, while he knows that Sam loved Cas too, it just isn’t the same. He thinks that, if it’s real, then it’s meant to be just for him. But another side of him is too afraid, is half convinced that he’ll open the drawer full of them to show Sam, and he just won’t see anything at all. That it’s all a figment of his imagination.

***

Grief consumes Dean.

He’s happy for Sammy, god, _of course_ he is. But he can’t just - just move on like he can. Sam has Eileen, he has the person he loves with him and they get to do this life together. And Dean kinds of hates himself for it, but he’s _jealous._. Jealous that his little brother gets to have something that Dean can’t, that he never will be able to.

So he understands why Sammy doesn’t want to mess with the universe again, piss off anymore cosmic beings that could rip away everything they’ve fought for. But Dean has already had everything ripped from him, consumed by The Empty before he could even think, let alone do anything about it. Doing nothing just isn’t an option for him. 

Dean doesn’t think he’s ever done this much research in his life - not when trying to get rid of the Mark of Cain, or defeat Lucifer, or Amara, or Chuck. He spends every free moment in the Men of Letters’ library, poring over book after book, writing page after page of notes, just looking for something, _anything_ that could help him. 

He’s thought about praying to Jack a hundred times, just asking him for this _one_ thing then promising to never ask for anything else as long as he lives. Or cashing in his favour, his _you-owe-me-for-killing-my-mom._

But he knows what Jack said, that he wants to be hands-off, that he wants to be the exact opposite of everything Chuck was. And Dean has to respect that, not just because Jack is his kid and he loves him, but because Jack has spent his entire existence fighting against falling in line with his destiny. So Dean won’t ask him to go against everything he believes, he’ll just work even harder. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to come?” Sam asks, popping his head into the library early one morning. 

He and Eileen are taking a road trip of their own, seeing the sights, doing all the things that Sam has never got to before. They’ve asked Dean a dozen times if he wants to join them, that he won’t be third wheeling. But Dean knows that he would be, and he can’t leave anyway, can’t waste a single moment that could be spent trying to bring Cas back. 

Dean shakes his head, barely even looks up from the book he’s reading as he says, “No man, go and have fun. Keep me updated.”

Sam sighs. Dean knows he’s worried about him and he can’t really blame him, but an ugly part of him is frustrated by it. One of the dark sides to Dean is angry that Sam can just move on, like losing Castiel doesn’t feel like hell, like he isn’t worth fighting to bring back, like _Dean_ should just give up. 

But then the better part of him, the part that maybe Cas fell in love with, knows that isn’t fair. Dean dragged Sam back into this life, and now he can finally escape it, he has every right to. Dean is happy for him. He _is._ But he can’t abandon Castiel. 

“Okay, if you’re sure,” Sam says, hesitant. “Make sure you eat. And take a shower.”

And then Dean is left alone in the bunker. 

Except for how he never really feels alone here. Because it’s like he can always feel a presence with him, something bright and warm and _good,_ something watching over him. 

And he knows it’s not actually Cas, but maybe it’s a part of him? Cas was such an integral part of their life in the bunker, was a part of the very fabric that made this place a home, so maybe. Maybe a part of him lingers here with Dean, like a comfort, or a reminder to keep fighting, or something. Maybe. 

Dean finds another book, pulls it off the shelf and goes to sit back down with it. It probably has nothing in it that can help him, but he’s willing to read over it anyway, just on the off chance. 

It falls open to a random page and Dean chokes out a gasp. Because there it is, another one, in an entirely impossible place. There’s no way it could have gotten there by accident, no way it’s just a coincidence. Dean doesn’t believe in them anymore. 

Slowly, with a trembling hand, Dean takes hold of the feather. It’s the biggest he’s found so far, the most beautiful, and that’s all it takes for him to shatter. 

He sucks in a heaving breath and just _cries._ It’s mournful, and earth shattering, and _desperate._ Every ounce of hurt that has taken over Dean’s body can be heard in it; it sounds like a plea and a prayer, it sounds like pure agony. 

Dean Winchester’s pain shakes the universe.

***

He keeps going because he has to, because he hasn’t found a way to bring Castiel back yet, and because he can’t leave Sammy.

Dean knows he’ll be fine without him, that he has Eileen and a future to look forward to now, but that’s not the point. It’s not like each other is all they need anymore, but Dean still refuses to give Chuck what he had wanted - he refuses to leave Sam to live the rest of his life without him. 

That means he has a lot of time to work. So, slowly, as more time passes, every surface in Dean’s bedroom ends up covered with sheets of hand written notes, with torn out pages from ancient books. It doesn’t really feel like he’s getting closer to saving him yet, but he somehow _does_ feel closer to Castiel. 

He’s not sure why, but the more time Dean spends searching for ways to help Cas, the more concrete he seems, the more Dean can sense the warmth of his presence. 

It feels like hope. 

Sam and Eileen are only gone for a couple of weeks, and when Sam enters the bunker again he’s, well. This isn’t some fucking rom-com, but the guy is _glowing._ The closest Dean has ever seen him looking like this was when he was with Jessica and out of the game. He looks so, unreservedly _happy._

It makes Dean feel light with relief, knowing that Sam really is going to be okay. It also makes him feel heavy with loneliness, but that’s a feeling he can keep to himself, not something he has to burden his little brother with. 

“Sammy,” Dean greets him, bearing the first genuine smile he’s worn in far too long. 

Dean hugs him tightly for just a second, then pulls back to take a look at him. 

“Hey man, how are you?” Sam asks. 

He’s smiling so widely Dean almost wants to make fun of him for it. 

“How am I? Dude, you’re the one who went on a romantic road trip,” Dean teases. 

Sam rolls his eyes but laughs good-naturedly.

“I’m good, Dean. I’m really, really good.”

And Dean can see it, in his eyes and smile, even the way he holds himself. He looks lighter, like the weight of the world has finally been lifted from his shoulders. It suits him. 

“I’m glad, Sammy,” Dean replies. 

There’s an awkward few moments where neither of them know what to say. Dean doesn’t want to do anything that will bring down Sam’s mood, and Sam feels guilty for being happy when his brother so clearly isn’t. 

“Have you found anything?” Sam asks eventually, gesturing at the books open in front of Dean. 

His grimace is the only answer Sam really needs. 

“Maybe-“

“-no,” Dean interrupts. “I know what you’re gonna say, and I’m asking you not to.”

He can’t hear it, because he already knows what it’s going to be. Dean would do basically anything for Sam, but this is the one thing he won’t - _can’t_ give to him. 

“I just think that it’s time to-“

“-what? Time to what? Move on?” Dean asks. 

He’s getting angry now, and he doesn’t want to, doesn’t want to ruin Sam’s vacation like this, but he won’t hear it. 

Sam shrugs. “Maybe.”

And for a split second, Dean hates his brother. It’s gone before he can even blink, but still, it was there. Because Dean knows without a doubt, that if the roles were reversed Sam would _never_ give up on finding Eileen. 

“What would you do if it was Eileen?” Dean asks. 

He sees the pain cross Sam’s face, the way it twists up his insides for just a fraction of a second. Good. That’s the pain Dean has been living with every second since Castiel was taken from him. Perhaps if Sam can feel that, then he can understand why Dean can’t stop. 

“That’s not the same, though, Dean,” Sam says. 

And Dean had always been operating under the assumption that Sam knew, even if just a little bit. That he had a hint of how he felt about Castiel, about how it was so much more than just friends, just family. But as Sam looks at him now, it’s clear that he has no idea - that to him, Dean is just grieving their mutual friend. 

It makes things clearer, all of a sudden. It makes Dean understand why, as death was knocking at their door, Cas had genuinely believed that he could never have Dean. Because if even Sam couldn’t see, then Castiel had no chance. 

It steals his breath, makes something deep in his chest ache, because Castiel really did die having no idea just how much he meant to Dean. He didn’t know that Dean would have given him everything, if only he’d asked.

It feels like a failing of monumental proportions, and it makes him that much more determined to bring Castiel back to him. 

“Yes, it is,” Dean replies, “It is the same.”

He refuses to let his voice shake as he speaks, but he feels vulnerable beyond belief. Because he’s never said it out loud before to anyone, in fact, he’d barely even accepted it himself before the Empty came for Cas. It’s a part of him that he’s kept buried for as long as he can remember, too afraid to let anyone see it. 

But it was that moment in the bunker, when Chuck was standing before them saying this was _it,_ this was the only universe in which Castiel rebelled. It became startlingly clear in that moment, just how much he truly cared for Cas. Because it was them all along; it was their connection, their bond, their _love_ that broke through everything Chuck was trying to write into existence. 

He sees realisation dawn on Sam’s face, then the devastation that follows when he finally, _finally_ understands why Dean can’t give up. 

“Dean,” Sam says, “I didn’t know.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that, because really, he didn’t either. At least, he didn’t until it was too late. So he shrugs and smiles sadly, afraid that if he tries to say anything his voice will break. 

Sam seems to take the hint - he doesn’t press any further, just sits down across from Dean and settles in. 

“How can I help?” He asks. 

Dean slides a book across the table to him and, as they get to work, he lets his finger run over the feather hidden in his pocket - the one he’d found in the kitchen that morning.

***

The longer they go without finding anything, the harder it becomes for Dean to get out of bed every morning. He’s exhausted right down to his very core, so tired of always having to fight for every single thing. It’s draining and demoralising when, the more they search, the less they seem to find.

And still, Dean drags himself out of bed every morning, ready for another day. Because maybe today. Maybe. 

He opens up his bedroom door and almost stands on the pile of feathers outside of it. 

He’s never found more than one at a time before, and he hasn’t seen any in over a week. It catches him by surprise, and the tears that threaten to spill are completely involuntary. His hands shake as he collects them, puts them all in the drawer with the rest of them and tries not to hope too much, tries not to take this as some kind of cosmic sign. 

By the time he makes it to the kitchen, he’s calmed down enough that Sam doesn’t notice there’s anything wrong with him. They sit in comfortable silence as they eat, Sam checking online for any suspicious activity, and Dean making a mental plan of what books to research today. 

It’s quiet, peaceful, and then a crash echoes throughout the bunker, so loud Dean almost fall from his seat.

In an instant both he and Sam are armed, guns cocked and ready to go. They look at each other, communicating in only looks and gestures like decades of hunting together has taught them. 

They follow where the noise came from, and the closer they get, the tighter Dean’s chest feels. Because he knows now where it came from, and he hasn’t been in that room since - since Castiel. Hasn’t even been able to walk past it without the gravity of it almost pulling him to his knees. 

He takes a deep breath, and after once glance in Sam’s direction, shoves the door open and barges inside. His finger is on the trigger, ready to pull, but it falls away the second he takes in the sight in front of him. 

Of all the things he could have expected, it wasn’t this. And if the choked off gasp Sam lets out behind him is anything to go by, he’s just as surprised. 

Because, standing in front of them, is Castiel. 

He looks confused, but other than that, no worse for wear. And when he takes in Dean, looks him up and down to make sure he isn’t seeing things, he smiles. So warmly that Dean can feel his heart begin to thaw. 

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel says.

It sounds like home. 

“Cas,” is all Dean can manage to say. 

He just stands rooted in place, staring as Sam hugs Cas tightly. He can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t even move. It feels surreal, like maybe he should have expected this after everything they’ve already survived together, but he’s still so completely in shock that it feels like his brain is rebooting. 

“Cas, how are you here?” Sam asks. 

And Dean wants to know that too, of course. But he cares less about he _how,_ and more about the fact that he is at all. That he’s standing there in front of him, real and alive and smiling. Dean wants to reach out and touch but he can’t, is too afraid for so many reasons. 

“The Empty is where angels and demons go after death,” Cas says. “Humans aren’t welcome there.”

Dean knows that - if they were, he thinks he already would have followed Castiel. 

“So, what?” Sam asks, confused. 

“So I gave up my grace.”

Cas answers with a smile on his face, easy, uncomplicated. As if he hasn’t just admitted to giving up his grace, his powers, part of who he is. 

“What?” Dean says, shocked. 

He remembers Castiel when he fell the first time, what losing his grace did to him. He can’t understand why, after living through that, he would ever willingly give it up again. 

Cas’ expression wavers then, and he looks unsure of himself. 

“It was like the empty didn’t want me to leave, like they were determined to make sure I fulfilled my end of the bargain,” he explains. “Every time I tried, it healed me. It was a long process, it felt like plucking feathers.”

Sam laughs, says, “I think you mean _pulling teeth,_ Cas.”

But no. No he doesn’t. Because everything is crystal clear for the first time since the moment Dean realised how he felt. The feathers - in the bunker, and the car, and the _books._ The whole time, it really _was_ Cas. He was shedding his grace, leaving tokens exactly where he knew Dean would find them. 

Castiel was trying to tell Dean that he was fighting to make it back. 

The realisation brings tears to his eyes, and this time he doesn’t try to stop them from falling, just lets them roll down his face for Sam and Cas to see. 

“No, he means plucking feathers,” Dean affirms. 

And his voice cracks but Cas smiles knowingly anyway. 

Sam disappears silently and Dean is insanely grateful, because he needs to be alone with Cas right now. They need to do this properly, for themselves, not for anyone else to witness. 

“Come with me,” Dean says. 

He turns around and walks, knows that Castiel will follow him wherever he’s going, just like he always has done. Just like Dean would have done if he could, if it only had been possible. 

They end up in Dean’s bedroom, and while Cas doesn’t question it, he does look confused. So Dean reaches out, tugs on his trench coat to bring him closer, so he can look into the drawer and see what Dean is trying to show him. 

Cas reaches a hand out, lets his fingers trace over the feathers that Dean has been collecting, keeping safe.

“You kept them,” Castiel murmurs, in awe. 

“Wasn’t sure if I was going crazy,” Dean says. “Or - or if it was really you. I just, had to keep them.”

He knows what those words mean, what he’s saying without really saying it. Because Castiel smiles again, looks back up to Dean’s eyes. 

“I wasn’t sure if you were getting them,” Cas confesses. 

Dean closes his eyes then, squeezes them tightly and takes in a deep breath. This all feels too big and too much. This beautiful, unbelievable angel - _human_ \- loves him, loves Dean Winchester. He gave his life, and then he gave his grace, and it was all for Dean. Every single time. 

“Cas, I’m not worth this,” Dean tells him, his voice thick with tears. 

Castiel shakes his head, turns so he’s facing Dean and rests a hand on his shoulder. It’s the first time they’ve touched since he got back, and it’s taking everything Dean has to remain standing, to not collapse with relief that he’s here, he’s _home._

“When I first laid a hand on you in hell, I was _found,_ Dean. You are worth all of it and more,” Castiel promises. 

And Dean is so tired of being afraid - of monsters and humans, of god, of his _father._ He’s tired of living his life for everyone but himself. 

So with steady hands, more sure than he’s ever been before, he pulls Castiel close and kisses him like he’s been waiting his whole life for this. 

Castiel cradles Dean’s face like he’s something precious, and it’s the first time he has ever been touched like this, soft and gentle and _knowing._ Because Cas knows all of him, knows the bad, and the scared, and the broken - knows every tattered piece of his soul and even the thread that stitches them all together. And yet, in spite of it all, or maybe even because of it, Castiel loves him. 

There’s something otherworldly about being touched by someone who sees you, and loves you anyway. It makes something settle deep inside of Dean, something click into place that he had never realised was missing before this moment. 

“I love you,” Dean tells him. “I do, I love you. You can have me, Cas. I’m yours. I’ve always been yours.”

Castiel kisses him again then, deep and slow, enough to calm his racing thoughts and thundering heart. He feels grounded with Cas, feels more himself than ever before. He feels whole. 

“I love you too, Dean,” Cas says. 

And he’s heard it before but it’s different this time, it feels real. Because Cas is human now, because the world is quiet when Jack in is charge, because they finally get to have this. 

After all the fighting they’ve done, and everything they’ve lost, and all the hurt they’ve endured, they get to have each other. 

_Dean Winchester is saved._

**Author's Note:**

> This sucks but not as much as that finale did
> 
> S15E20? I don’t know her


End file.
